Santana centric drabble
by frecklesonthisdoll
Summary: Nameless drabble inspired by some listening to my Broadway playlist on a plane. Character exploration of the now-and-then writer that I am. Disproportional author note, as usual.


**A/N: **_I know I haven't posted anything in over six months *insert sheepish grin* but I just didn't have any plot bunnies around, so sorry if you've been expecting anything from me, or for me to be found dead in a hole, because I am well alive and finally publishing something!_

_So, this piece is very short BUT there is something you _have_ to do before reading it; you are going to go listen to "The Dark I Know Well" from Spring Awakening. No, I do_ not_ care that you have seen the musical five times, I want you to have the voice, tone and, most importantly, the _lyrics_ in mind whilst you read this - Broadway version, btw - because I got the idea for this fic when I was listening to it. _

_Now, go ahead and do what you do, and please remember that reviews are very much appreciated :)_

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><p>"[...]There's a part I can't tell, about the dark I know well," Santana finished signing. She lowered her head, swiping a hand across her face to wipe away the traitor tear that had escaped her will.<p>

She took a deep, shaky breath, forcing her head back up too meed Kurt's familiar eyes, then tilting it to the side to see Mr Schue's baffled expression— he was confused after each emotional number, nothing new there.

"Thank you," she sighed out before standing up, and bowing down slightly. She walked around her stool to wrap Brittany in a tight embrace. "And thank _you_ for signing this song with me," she whispered in the girl's blonde hair.

The room was filled with cheers as soon as the two bodies met and, though they weren't joyous, seeing the subject of the song, every applause was sincere. The girls only parted when the club stopped clapping, facing the members to go sit back amongst them, in the last row.

"That surely was... interesting, Santana. A very good performance," their teacher broke the silence after stepping up and joining his hands together, as he always did. "As for the rest of you, I expect nothing less than the best for the coming performances. It's Broadway week, after all!" the man concluded and, before anyone could hear Rachel's 1000th excited squeal to the mention of the week's theme, the school bell rang, dismissing them all.

As everyone was walking out of the room, Kurt walked up to Santana and tapped her shoulder, making her turn around. At the same time, Sam, leaving the room, closed the door behind him, leaving them both alone beside the piano.

"Just know we're all here, if you want to talk... about anything, for anything," but Kurt was referring to something in particular.

A few days ago, Santana had allowed Kurt into a secret. A long-time, heavy secret. Of course, the young man had no intention of letting it slip, but he did worry for his friend a lot. If it was heavy for him, he couldn't imagine what it must be for her. As it was often the case in Glee club, the young girl had ended up singing her feelings most of the club —their teacher included— didn't know, was how close to her true reality the song Santana Lopez had decided to sing from Broadway's large repertory really was. Brittany, her best friend, knew some parts of the secret. If it hadn't been for Lord Tubbington's constant interruptions in their discussion, she would have heard it all. That's where Santana's life secret rested. Between the one she loved and the one she trusted the most.

"I know, thank you," she touched his shoulder as she sighed it out. "But the toughest part will be keeping Britt _from_ talking about anything."

The boy let a dry chuckle escape his lips, "yeah," he replied as he ducked his head. "Call me, okay? Any time, any reason."

She nodded her head slowly and they both got out of the room, then to their respective lockers to now mainly empty hallways, for the last time of the day, before heading back home on their separate ways.

That night, before her father came home, Santana did call Kurt. She was scared. Of how much her father would have drank, of how angry he would be if he ever found out their "secret" had been shared, of how he would touch her when he got back to her, her young body and mind, and the dark of a seemingly inoffensive bedroom.


End file.
